


Appy Platter

by ladivvinatravestia



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Age Difference, Avoidant-Restrictive Food Intake Disorder, Established Relationship, Food sensory issues, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Lust, Pining, References to BDSM, References to Sex Work, graphic descriptions of food and drink, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:21:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26686588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladivvinatravestia/pseuds/ladivvinatravestia
Summary: Two attempts I made to write Geraskier hand-feeding, where the characters didn’t quite cooperate with me.  One pre-relationship; one well-established relationship
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 6
Kudos: 67





	Appy Platter

**Author's Note:**

> A combination of show and game canon. Both of the scenes you will read here were intended to be the beginnings of longer fics, so both set up issues that remain unresolved by the end of the scene.

_Somewhere in Lyria, 1243_

Geralt isn’t too sure how Jaskier came to be sitting on his knee at this banquet. But then, Geralt isn’t too sure how he came to be at this banquet in the first place, save that Jaskier had done a bunch of fast-talking and it was questionable whether either of them had ever been on the guest list in the first place. Now that they’re here, though - there are a large number of pretty young musicians and dancers circulating among the guests, many pausing to receive compliments - or more physical forms of affection - from the guests, and, hence, Jaskier. On Geralt’s knee, his arms slung affectionately around Geralt’s neck. He’s still slender, and Geralt can easily fit one arm around his waist, but Geralt finds he needs to look up if he wants to make eye contact with Jaskier instead of just getting a face full of chest hair.

And.

Well.

He would very much like to get a face full of chest hair, but Jaskier is barely twenty-one, and Geralt has been on the Path nearly three times that long. It’s hardly seemly. Besides, Geralt isn’t convinced that any of the entertainers here are getting paid for anything beyond their public musical performances; and if they are, Jaskier will surely want to earn his extra coin with someone more attractive and personable than Geralt - the dark-haired woman with the daring neckline at the high table who keeps eyeing him, for example.

“Is - do -“ Geralt starts haltingly, trying to formulate his question. 

“Oh, charades!” grins Jaskier, shifting so he can get a securer seat on Geralt’s knee. Geralt puts an arm around his waist to steady him and ignores the illicit thrill he gets from pulling Jaskier closer. “Three words,” continues Jaskier, “first word sounds like -“

“You’re a fucking brat,” grumbles Geralt.

“If you dislike it so much,” Jaskier fires back, “you’re welcome to take me over your knee.”

It’s a practice Jaskier has mentioned more than once, and something he evidently enjoys, despite (or perhaps, because of) its having been used on him as a true punishment during his school days. Geralt has never tried it but suspects he, too, might enjoy it, which makes it - entirely unsuitable for him to consider any further at this time. Best to just voice his question as plainly as he can.

“What you and the other entertainers are being paid for here tonight, does it include fucking the guests?”

“Why Geralt,” says Jaskier, reaching up to toy with a lock of Geralt’s hair. “If you ever want to enjoy my charms, you only need to ask.”

As though Geralt has not been painfully aware of this every moment of the last two years they’ve been travelling together, and trying his damnedest to resist the temptation to ask. Whatever his expression says, though, Jaskier seems to misread it, which is clearly for the best.

“Gods and goddesses, Geralt, your _face_!” he laughs, pushing teasingly at Geralt’s chest. Then he sobers, stops flirting entirely. “If there’s someone who’s caught your eye, just point them out. I can talk to them, see if they’re interested, and whether they’d be pleased or insulted to take your coin.”

“Good of you,” says Geralt, and Jaskier does, on the whole, tend to smoothe over more social situations than he ignites.

“But?” Jaskier prods. One of the men-at-arms at the opposite side of the table pulls a still-twirling dancer into his lap and she smiles a brittle smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Why is this happening?” Geralt asks, indicating the interaction.

Jaskier’s smile, too, freezes. “Ah! Well,” he says, “it’s a common hazard of the profession, I’m afraid.” Geralt grits his teeth. He’d never given much thought to the hazards of being a bard before meeting Jaskier - in fact, if asked, he would likely have said they didn’t face any. Since starting to travel with him, he’s learned that there are indeed many hazards. And although many of them are partially of Jaskier’s own making, this one is not - and in fact, it’s a hazard he faces too often in his own profession.

“Now, please don’t get upset -“ Jaskier begins, but Geralt interrupts him.

“Why not? You get upset when I get paid for far less work than I did on a contract,” he says.

That clearly isn’t what Jaskier was expecting him to say, because his mouth hangs open for a moment, wordless, before he shuts it with a click of his teeth. Then his public performance mask slips into place again and he says,

“Now then, do you mind taking a little extra food for me when the dishes make their way down here from the high table? I probably won’t have the chance to grab anything for myself while I’m performing.”

“Hmm,” Geralt agrees, too taken aback to say anything further. On top of the wilful underpayment for the actual scope of entertainment duties, the performers aren’t even getting properly fed? He vows never to hunt monsters in Samant again.

“Thanks ever so, Geralt, you’re such a darling,” says Jaskier, kissing Geralt on the corner of the mouth before extricating himself smoothly from Geralt’s lap and making his way toward the high table, lute in hand.

Geralt’s table-mates, mostly farm folks and men-at-arms from the local lord’s household, give him knowing looks, and one says,

“You’ve got a lively one there.”

“He’s more trouble than he’s worth,” grumbles Geralt, which isn’t even a lie. It saves him from having to think about the hot jolt of pleasure that had gone straight through him when Jaskier kissed him.

“Oh, all the prettiest ones are,” says another one of the men, and gives Geralt a wink.

Geralt dutifully sets aside some of everything for Jaskier on his plate, and eventually Jaskier returns from performing near the high table to drape himself over Geralt’s shoulders from behind.

“Phew, you’ve no idea what a relief it is to be back here,” he says. “The Duchess of Aligant was _quite_ persistent in her affections.”

“And you turned her down?” says one of Geralt’s table-mates. “She’s quite the, uh, _looker_.” He makes a cupping motion with his hands that makes it clear to Geralt the lady in question must be the one with the daring neckline at the high table.

“Daft bastard,” says another one of Geralt’s table-mates, shaking his head in reproach.

“Oh no, I couldn’t possibly,” says Jaskier. He swings first one long leg and then the other over the bench and deposits himself once again in Geralt’s lap.

The reasons for Jaskier’s sudden over-attentiveness fall into place - he’s only being paid for musical entertainment, not sex work, and he’s trying to avoid at least one person who wants him to provide his services for free.

“Aw, let your boy have some fun,” wheedles the first table-mate.

In such close quarters, Geralt doesn’t so much hear as feel Jaskier’s heart rate increasing in alarm.

“He can have his fun with me,” he growls, and tightens his arm around Jaskier’s waist. Jaskier’s heart rate increases again, but with it, Geralt smells a spike of arousal. He plucks a morsel of venison off Geralt’s plate, pops it into his mouth, and makes a show of licking his long fingers.

“Oh, I will,” he purrs.

Well.

This was a mistake.

~~

_Corvo Bianco, 1273_

“I thought you said Witchers don’t retire,” says Jaskier. He deposits himself on the bench next to Geralt and sticks his lower lip out in a pout reminiscent of the one he’d employed the first time they’d had this conversation, the fateful night of Princess Pavetta’s betrothal banquet. It had been difficult at the time for Geralt to resist the temptation to lean forward and bite the offending lip - now, there’s no reason for him to resist the temptation, so he doesn’t.

“Mmm,” says Jaskier. He doesn’t resist either, but leans willingly into Geralt’s embrace, and their conversation is forgotten for several minutes until they are interrupted - rather rudely, Geralt thinks - by Marlene clearing her throat.

“Refreshments for your guest, sir,” she says, and Jaskier breaks guiltily away from Geralt as though he is a callow youth and not a tenured Oxenfurt professor of middle years. Geralt frowns at Marlene, who beams and sets down a generous tray of pastries nestled in red and white checkered cloth.

“Ooh, yum,” says Jaskier, licking his lips and hovering his fingers over the tray. “Which of these shall I try first? If these taste as good as they look, I shall have to make efforts to steal your cook, my dear.”

He pops a tart covered in brightly-coloured glazed berries into his mouth, and Geralt grumbles,

“You could just move in with me and enjoy her cooking without stealing her.”

“Mmf!” exclaims Jaskier, his eyes going wide with surprise.

“I see I shan’t be needing to make up the guest bedroom, then,” says Marlene, with an arch look.

“No, why would you?” Geralt asks.

“Oh, _Geralt_ ,” sighs Marlene, and flicks her towel at him before retreating back indoors.

“Guess the tart was tasty,” comments Geralt, as Jaskier finishes chewing and swallows. He pauses, looking at Geralt through lowered lashes, then switches from licking his fingers matter-of-factly to doing so in an exaggeratedly seductive fashion.

“It was,” he agrees, just as Geralt’s hose are starting to feel uncomfortably tight. “Haven’t you tried them before?”

“No,” mumbles Geralt, hoping that Jaskier won’t hear or understand him, but of course, he does. Geralt still feels self-conscious about his very plain tastes in food. Even if Jaskier has never, ever tried to mock him for them, other humans have, and it’s stuck with him.

“So you’ve been eating pease porridge, bread and butter, and force meat this whole time?” Jaskier asks.

Geralt looks away. He has been _trying_ to eat some of the other things Marlene cooks for him but - he likes what he likes. So many foods have strong flavours, or unpleasant textures, or both. It’s easier to just - eat what he knows he won’t gag on. 

Jaskier shifts even closer to Geralt on the bench, which puts him more or less in Geralt’s lap. Geralt can’t say he minds all that much. “We can try them together,” he suggests, smiling impishly. “Now, is there one you have your eye on, or would you like me to pick?”

Geralt looks dubiously at the tray. There are custard tarts and tarts topped with fruits in a high-gloss glaze. There are horn-shaped flaky pastries filled with whipped cream, and stacked flaky pastries layered with honey and chopped nuts. Rolls baked with saffron and dried fruits, and rolls with a swirl of cinnamon and sugar through the middle. It’s overwhelming.

“You pick,” he says, already starting to feel anxious.

“Alright, my dear,” smiles Jaskier. “Now, let’s see. No, we won’t start you with that one,” he says, when he sees Geralt eyeing the twin to th fruit tart he’d devoured. “A lot of different things going on all at once, multiple flavours and textures. Why don’t we try this one?”

He picks out a brightly-coloured sweet, shaped more or less like a large strawberry and coloured a pinkish red, with dots for seeds, but clearly formed of some malleable paste.

“Marchpane,” Jaskier explains. “Ground almonds and sugar, mostly. Now, why don’t you touch your tongue to it to see if you’ll like the texture?”

Geralt darts his eyes around, looking for Marlene, who will surely disapprove.

“And don’t you worry yourself about what will happen if you try it and don’t like it,” says Jaskier. “I’ll just eat the ones you don’t like, and if I come back to Oxenfurt looking a little more - professorial -“ he pats his stomach, “well, my wardrobe can always stand a little updating.”

Geralt feels the bottom drop out of his stomach a little. He wants to reiterate his invitation for Jaskier to stay permanently, but what if Jaskier doesn’t want to? He’s always been happy enough to seek out Geralt’s company for long periods of time, but maybe an indefinite stay is too much to ask for. It’s probably better to leave the question unasked - that way Jaskier can’t give him the answer he dreads.

“Hmm,” he says, and opens his mouth so Jaskier can feed him a bite of the marchpane strawberry instead.

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [tumblr](%E2%80%9C)!


End file.
